5 Times They Met in Another Life
by Cora Clavia
Summary: ...and then one more time they also met in another life.
1. chef's special

It's 1:30pm on Thanksgiving Day, and Sam is _freezing._ As she opens the door to Jack's Diner, the bell jingles merrily, and a gust of wind slams it shut behind her before she can catch it.

November in Minnesota is no joke, she's starting to realize.

She unbuttons her coat and lets out a breath, looking around at the cozy, cheerful, empty diner. It's warm and inviting, the walls dotted with framed hockey posters and jerseys and photos from the Boundary Waters, but the only other person is a guy sitting behind the counter, reading.

He looks up from his book with a surprised expression, like he wasn't expecting anyone to walk in. "Oh. Hi."

"Hi." She looks around. It _is_ open, isn't it? Nothing else in town seems to have Thanksgiving hours, including the grocery store. She's just about out of options.

"Please, have a seat." He waves a hand at a stool in front of him. "Coffee?"

"Sure."

He walks back to the coffeepot, and Sam takes the opportunity to look him over. He's tall, lean, with silvery hair and lightly tanned skin. A soft dusting of scruff over his jaw. The faded plaid shirt and worn jeans she'd expect from someone in small-town Minnesota.

She tears her eyes away, blushing softly as he turns back towards her. No need to be creepy about it. It's not his fault he's –

\- well. Not hard to look at.

"I'm Jack, by the way," he calls over his shoulder.

Makes sense. It's his diner. "I'm Sam."

He sets a cup and saucer in front of her. "Nice to meet you, Sam. You new in town, or just passing through?"

She nods. "I just moved to Minnesota – I'm teaching at the college. Still getting settled."

"Where'd you come from?"

"San Diego."

He winces. "Did anyone warn you about winters?"

"Many times."

"Good. Well, Happy Thanksgiving." He shoves his hands in his pockets, watching her with bright, perceptive brown eyes. "So what can I get you?"

She thinks for a few seconds, looking down at the plastic-covered menu on the counter. Nothing sticks out in particular; she's just hungry. "Surprise me?"

Jack looks at her for a long moment, pursing his lips, before he nods. "You trust me?"

Something turns in her chest, something soft and unbound, and she can't explain the sudden rush of warmth at the gentleness in his brown eyes.

"Sure."

"Okay then." He rubs his hands together. "Let me see what I can do."

* * *

She was half-expecting a burger or pasta, but when he sets the plate in front of her, she gapes. Definitely not regular diner fare. "What is this?"

"Steak pizzaiola." He nods at the bread. "And that's my special focaccia recipe. Just baked it this morning. Ultra top secret."

"So if you told me, you'd have to kill me?"

"Exactly."

It smells delicious, and her first bite proves that it tastes even better. The beef is rich, savory, fragrant with oregano and garlic, and it has just the perfect hint of spice. She swallows slowly, shaking her head. "This is _incredible_."

"Thanks." He folds his arms, clearly aiming for nonchalance, but she can tell he's pleased. "Glad you like it."

He goes back to the oven, poking around, and she's about to ask if he forgot something when he comes back to the counter with another plate of food, sets it down, and sits across from her, pouring himself a glass of water.

"Do you normally eat with your customers?" she asks, amused.

He shrugs. "When I'm hungry."

They eat in strangely companionable silence for a while. Sam steals glances at him, but it's something behind him that catches her attention.

It's a framed photo, tucked half-behind the register where it's hard to see. It shows Jack and a little boy. The kid is maybe six, and his sandy hair and sparkling brown eyes and crinkly smile are such a striking resemblance that she can guess exactly who it is.

She's about to say something, but instinct tells her not to.

Because it's Thanksgiving, but Jack's here, not spending the holiday with what is almost certainly his son.

And judging by how much darker his hair is in the photo, it's not new. It's several years old.

There's a story here she doesn't know. So she doesn't ask.

* * *

Eventually, she looks down at her empty plate and sets her fork on it, letting out a sigh. "That was delicious."

He still looks delighted, like he's personally proud that she enjoyed his cooking. "I'm glad you liked it."

"Really." She shakes her head. "I'm a terrible cook. I have no idea how to make something like that."

That makes him grin, but he just shrugs, brushing his hands over his jeans. "So – dessert?" He glances back into the kitchen. "Ah, we ran out of pie yesterday, but I think we've got blue jell-O."

Sam blinks. "Really?"

"Do you like jell-O?"

"Blue's my favorite."

"Well, that's it, then." He nods sagely. "It's destiny."

He takes their plates in the back and returns a minute later with two dishes of quivering, vivid blue jell-O, each carefully topped with a dollop of whipped cream.

"Here we are." He sits across from her. "A gourmet dessert."

Sam takes a bite. "Very good. Maybe not fancy, but it's good."

"Glad to hear that."

He takes his seat across from her. But rather than dig into his, though, Jack tilts his head, looking at her with curiosity. "If you don't mind my asking, how have you ended up in a tiny town in Minnesota?"

The question hits her like a fist.

_Everything_.

The whole mess with Pete, the cancelled wedding, her father's illness – it's all on the tip of her tongue, and she's been holding it in for so long that she's about to bring it all down on this man she's only just met, and why? Because he has soft eyes? Because he's hot?

Because she feels like she already knows him?

Sam forces a smile. "It's kind of a long story."

He reaches for the coffeepot and refills her cup.

"I'm not going anywhere."


	2. going up (sort of)

"Oh, could you hold that?"

Sam hurries to the elevator, heaving a sigh of relief as an arm reaches out to hold the doors. Whew. Just made it.

She shifts her bag to her left shoulder, smiling at the other occupant. "Thanks."

"Sure." He pushes the button for fourteen, waving an ID tag in front of the sensor. "Which floor are you?"

"Um -" Sam fishes a scrap of paper out of the outside pocket of her bag. "Twelve, please."

He hits the button for twelve, and the doors close.

Sam steals a sideways glance at the man beside her. He's Air Force, and judging by the eagles on his epaulets, he's a full colonel. He has the lean, studied physical grace of someone whose entire career has necessitated he stay in peak shape, and as much as she's not here to ogle a handsome officer, well.

She's not blind.

The elevator whisks upwards smoothly, but just as Sam's starting to catch her breath from her brisk jog through the lobby, it gives a sickening lurch.

She stumbles in her sensible heels, almost falling before the colonel catches her arm. The floor beneath them stops, leaving the car abruptly still and silent, and the two of them look around before he finally lets go of her arm. "You okay?"

She nods. "Fine. That was weird."

"No kidding."

She looks around; the lights are on, but it's too quiet. "It sounds like the motor's stopped."

"You're right. I don't hear anything running." With a shrug, he reaches for the emergency telephone, punching in three digits. "Hello? Siler? Hi, Siler. It's O'Neill. Yeah, elevator four. Well, it's kind of just – not really working." He pauses. "Just two of us. We're fine. Just stuck."

He pauses again, then covers the receiver with one hand and leans toward Sam. "What's your name?"

"Samantha."

"Samantha," he repeats into the receiver, nodding absently at whatever the person on the other end is saying, before handing it over to Sam. "For you."

Sam puts the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hello, ma'am. I'm Sergeant Siler. We're so sorry about this; I've notified the General of the situation, and he's happy to push your meeting back. We've already got a team working on the problem. We should have you out of there in an hour or so."

An _hour?_

"Uh – thank you. I appreciate it."

"Anything happens, ma'am, just call. I'll be right here."

She hands the phone back to the colonel, who hangs it up. "An hour?"

"An hour," she confirms.

"Okay then." He reaches a hand out, and Sam takes it slowly. His grip is firm. "I'm Jack."

"Sam."

"Well, Sam, it looks like we don't have a choice. We have to talk to each other."

"No choice?"

He grins at her, lopsided and cheeky, and she can't help but smile back. "The elevator gods have decreed it. And I forgot to bring playing cards."

"Elevator gods?" She raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Hey, I don't make the rules." Jack runs a hand through his hair, mussing it slightly, and shrugs. "Might as well get comfortable."

"Might – what?"

He shrugs off his uniform coat and reaches for his tie, loosening the knot, before settling on the floor, leaning back against the wall. "We're gonna be here a while."

Sam shifts on her feet for a moment before deciding he has the right idea. No reason to stay on her feet, right?

She sits as gracefully as possible, smoothing her skirt down as she stretches her legs out beside his. The elevator's not huge, and despite the fact they're on opposite sides, they're near enough to touch.

"Well, Sam. Since we're stuck here. What brings you here today?"

"Meeting."

"Ah. Well, I promise this isn't a daily occurrence."

"That's good to know."

He tilts his head. "I'd ask what you do, but –"

"I know." In a top-secret military base, even here on a non-secure level, idle small talk about work isn't really a thing one does with strangers. She's a civilian with a visitor's tag; he has no way of knowing what clearance she does or doesn't have, and she doesn't know how much he knows about the stealth fighters for which she helps design parts.

"So." He unbuttons his top button, watching her with sparkling brown eyes and an impish smile. As handsome as he is in uniform, this casual, slightly-disheveled look seems to suit him even more. "We've got an hour. What do you want to do?"

* * *

When the elevator finally arrives at the next floor, Jack gives Sam a hand to scramble to her feet, smoothing out the wrinkles in her blouse and pencil skirt. The doors open just slowly enough that she digs her fingers into the strap of her shoulder bag, but they do, in fact, grind open, and she lets out a relieved breath as she steps out into the hallway, where the General and a small crew of technicians are waiting for them.

She's not really claustrophobic, but if it had taken much longer…

"General." Now back in his jacket, tie properly at his throat, Jack greets his commanding officer. "What an exciting afternoon it's turned out to be."

"I can see that, Colonel. Glad you're both all right." The General's eyes are twinkling. "I trust you behaved yourself around Dr. Carter?"

"Doc-_Doctor?_" Jack falters, looking back and forth between them. "Dr. _Carter?"_

Sam can't stop herself from laughing at this point. Jack looks so befuddled.

"Hi, Dad."

"Hey, Sammie."

General Jacob Carter gives her a hug. "Sorry about your first day. We'll try to make it up to you."

"It could have been worse."

She pulls back and steals a glance at Jack, who's still looking back and forth between her and her father like he's trying to find the resemblance.

"You're looking a little confused, Jack." Dad raises an eyebrow. "Something you want to share with the class?"

"Nothing at all, sir."

"Huh." Dad doesn't look convinced. "Anyway, Sammie. I'm free for our meeting right now, but I'm afraid I'm expecting a call from the White House later, so I'll have to beg out of our facility tour." He pauses. "Colonel O'Neill? Are you busy right now?"

"Not at all, sir."

"Could I trouble you to take Dr. Carter around the engineering department later? Her office isn't ready yet, but I'm sure she'd like to see the labs." Dad smiles wryly. "I'm sure you two will have plenty to discuss. Since she's just starting work here."

"Yes, sir," Jack nods. "For what it's worth, she kicked my ass in eight consecutive rounds of tic-tac-toe in that elevator."

"Excellent." Dad turns to her. "Sammie, shall we? My assistant just put on a fresh pot of coffee."

"Great." She looks back at Jack. "I'll see you later, Colonel."

He grins at her.

"We'll take the stairs this time, Doctor."


	3. breakfast of champions

a/n: Inspired by a very young Amanda Tapping's first (?) acting job, a 1989 Tim Horton's commercial

* * *

She's within sight of the end of her shift – so close, just half an hour left before she has to run off to get to class – when the door opens.

Sam looks up from the register to see their newest customer pulling off a pair of silver aviators. He's tall and lean, a dusting of grey in his sandy brown hair. As if the sunglasses and close-cropped hair weren't enough of a clue, he's wearing a flightsuit and boots. He's clearly Air Force – the base is just across town, Sam knows – and the patch over his right pocket says O'NEILL.

"Welcome to Tim Horton's." She fixes him with her brightest smile. "What can I get you?"

Instead of looking at the pastry case, though, he's watching her, his eyes keen and perceptive, and she feels herself blushing. She's seen the flyboy swagger more than a few times, but this is something different.

"What's good?" he asks.

"Everything."

He looks a hair skeptical. "_Everything_ is good?"

Sam shrugs. "I work here. What else am I going to say?"

"Huh. Right." He shoves his hands in his pockets. "Well, coffee for sure, please." He finally looks at the pastry case beside her, where rows of muffins and doughnuts are spaced in neat rows. "What would you get?"

She blinks. Uh. This isn't normally what she does. "Well – I had one of the bran muffins when I got here."

"Okay. I'll have one of those."

"Uh – okay." She enters his order, takes his money, and hands over his change. "Here you go. It'll be ready in just a second."

"Great." He glances down at her nametag. "Thanks, Samantha."

She's blushing furiously; his grin widens, but he just takes the coffee and neatly-wrapped muffin she hands him and heads for the door.

* * *

Grad school is hectic, and Sam takes the next few days off from work. She lives on a diet of coffee and forgetting food, and by the time she finishes her last paper on quantum physics, she's in a daze. Entirely too many numbers.

She finally goes back for a morning shift on Saturday. Janet's already there, refilling napkin dispensers as Sam ties her apron and opens the register. "Hey."

"Hey, Sam. How's school?"

Sam grimaces. "Let's not talk about it."

That makes Janet laugh. Janet's working this year to save up money; she's headed for law school in the fall, and she knows exactly what she's in for. "Fair enough."

"Thanks for covering my shifts this week. I just couldn't get everything done."

"No problem. Actually –" Janet grins at her conspiratorially. "You remember that cute guy who came in on Monday? The pilot who flirted with you?"

"He did not –"

"_Sam._"

She sighs. "Yeah, I remember him." As if she could forget.

Janet folds her arms, leaning back against the cabinet. "He's been coming in almost every morning since then."

"Really?" Sam frowns as she wipes down the counters. "There are plenty of coffee shops closer to the base."

"I know. But I'm pretty sure he's been hoping he'll see you." Janet waves away Sam's attempt to protest. "Same order every day, by the way. Coffee and a bran muffin."

Sam stares. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely."

"No one orders bran muffins."

"Exactly." Janet straightens her visor. "There's no other explanation, Sam. He wants to get in your pants."

"Janet!"

"Gotta go bake, bye."

* * *

Apart from the few regulars who seem to thrive in the early morning, the 5 o'clock hour at Tim Horton's is quiet on Saturdays. Sam's on cash register duty again, and there's not much to do.

It's almost six when the door opens, and she looks up to see the man she's told herself to stop thinking about.

He's not in uniform today, though. He's wearing khakis and a worn-looking brown leather jacket, and he looks casual and comfortable and a whole new level of gorgeous.

The minute he sees her, his face lights up, his eyes sparkling. Soft, warm delight swirls through her veins, and she knows that there's absolutely no chance she's not blushing right now.

_Damn it_.

"Hi." His voice is low, like there's no one else here but them.

"Hi yourself." She doesn't bother looking back at the kitchen; she knows Janet is watching from across the ovens.

"Haven't seen you in a while."

"Yeah, I was off for a few days." She realizes she's fussing with the edge of her apron and forces herself to stop. _You're in grad school, Sam, not middle school. Be an adult_. "So what can I get you?"

"Coffee and a bran muffin, please."

She pauses, hand hovering over the register, but finally she can't take it. "You don't have to do this."

"Do what?"

"You don't have to keep getting bran muffins."

He shrugs. "I like them."

"No one likes them. They're _bran muffins_. We have doughnuts. And bagels."

"But you eat them."

"I eat them because we always have extra," she tells him. "Because no one likes them."

"Well, I do." He cocks his head defiantly. "You know what? I'll take two."

Sam sighs. This is not the conversation she'd expected to have. "Alright. Coffee and two bran muffins, then."

He pulls out his wallet, but with the bills he hands over, there's a little slip of paper. She unfolds it to find a phone number.

When she looks up, startled, he just shrugs. He's trying to look casual, she can tell, but there's a look in his eyes she wasn't expecting.

Like maybe he's more self-conscious than she'd realized.

"Really?"

It escapes her before she can think about it, but he just grins at her, soft and wry.

"If you want."

She hands him his change and receipt, turning to look for the order list, but then he's snagged his cup and walked off, she gets called back to the drive-through window, and he and his two bran muffins are gone before she comes back.

* * *

She half-expects him to show up the next morning, maybe make puppydog eyes at her and ask if she's made up her mind yet, but he doesn't.

It's almost nine, long past when he normally appears, when Sam realizes: he was serious. He's not going to push.

It's entirely up to her.

* * *

As soon as she gets home, she tosses her keys on the counter, shrugs off her jacket, and picks up the phone.

He answers on the second ring, his voice brisk. "O'Neill."

"Hi."

There's a pause, and his voice softens. "Samantha?"

She twists the phone cord around her finger. "Most people call me Sam."

"Sam." She can hear the smile, even through the receiver. "I'm glad you called."

"How were your bran muffins?"

He laughs. "A little dry, if I'm being honest."

"I told you –"

"I know. I was feeling stubborn."

"At least you're honest."

"Damn straight," he chuckles. "Hey, do you want to have dinner with me?"

"Yeah. I'd like that." She smiles into the phone. "When were you thinking?"

"Are you doing anything tonight?"

"No."

"Great. Seven-thirty? O'Malley's?"

"Sure."

"Alright. It's a date." He pauses; she can faintly hear voices on the other end, though she can't make out what they're saying. "I have to go, but I'll see you later?"

"Sounds good." She moves to set the phone down, but stops. "Oh, wait."

"What?"

It feels a little strange to ask, but she can't let him go without knowing. "What's your name?"

"Oh." He sounds like he's only just realized – right, of course. "Jack. Jack O'Neill."

"Okay." She looks up at the clock. Only seven hours to wait. "See you tonight, Jack O'Neill."


	4. strangers in the night

"He's a great guy, Sam. I promise you'll like him."

Sam sighs, shifting the phone to her other ear as she looks through her closet. "I still don't know why I let you talk me into this."

"Because you have no life," Janet reminds her. "I'm helping."

"Uh-huh." Sam finally digs out a blue dress and decides: it'll do. "Have I ever told you how much I hate blind dates?"

"That's just because _I've_ never been the one setting you up." Janet sounds awfully sure of herself. "Just trust me. You'll like this guy."

* * *

Jack hates blind dates.

But Feretti's apparently got a friend-of-a-friend who is (reportedly) smart and hot and funny and (also reportedly) the perfect woman, and Jack had finally found himself out of excuses. Unfortunately, Feretti refuses to accept "I just don't want to."

So now Jack is wearing a jacket and tie, walking into the kind of restaurant he doesn't go to, to meet a woman someone else swears he's going to love.

_You gotta trust me, Jack. She's gorgeous and smart and she's got a great sense of humor. Just meet her, okay?_

He arrives at the restaurant to find his date already there. That's a good sign, right? The maître d' shows him back to the table where she's sitting, reading through the wine list.

And okay, so Feretti was telling the truth. She's pretty.

Jack squares his shoulders. _Could be worse, right?_

"Hi. I'm Jack."

She looks up, startled, but her eyes brighten as she realizes he's talking to her. "Oh, right! Louis's friend." She smiles. "I'm Laira."

* * *

Pete Shanahan is pleasant and polite and affable and very possibly the most boring person Sam has ever met.

After a dinner during which the most exciting event is her salad arriving with the wrong dressing, he asks if she'd like to go for a walk downtown in the balmy evening air, but she begs off. "I have an early morning tomorrow."

It's not true, but she just can't handle any more pleasantness.

Pete wishes her goodnight, looking for a moment like he's hoping for a peck on the cheek. She smiles and pretends she doesn't notice, waving as he walks off to his car.

* * *

Jack settles onto a barstool, loosening the knot of his tie. The bartender, a perky dark-haired woman with pigtails and far too much energy, leans on the bar in front of him. "So what can I get you?"

"Guinness, please."

"Coming right up."

She putters around behind the bar, somehow managing to simultaneously fill four other orders as she goes looking for his, and Jack lets out a sigh. He's had worse dates. But he's also had better ones.

_Gotta give Feretti shit for this_.

"Here you are, dear." The bartender, whose nametag says _VALA_ in neon pink letters, slides a bottle across the bar to him, setting down a coaster under it. "What's a handsome guy like you doing, moping around here alone?"

He shrugs. "Just looking for a drink."

She folds her arms, eyeing him carefully. "Well, you're dressed too nice to be out for nothing. Date? Oh, it was a bad date, right?"

Jack blinks. "You talk fast."

She claps her hands. "So now you're here, waiting for the right woman to walk in?"

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"

He turns to find a blonde woman in a blue dress, looking like she, too, just escaped from something.

"All yours."

She slides onto the stool beside him, and he waves to the bartender. "What are you drinking?"

She thinks for a moment, her gaze falling to the bottle in front of him. "Actually, Guinness sounds good. Thanks."

Vala, who seems to have decided they are both her new favorite pets, beams and starts searching for a bottle. The blonde turns to Jack. "Really, thanks. This is nice of you."

"He just had a bad date," Vala informs her. "Now he's here drowning his sorrows."

Jack looks up at the bartender, frowning in confusion. "Didn't I literally just meet you two minutes ago?"

"So?"

"So why are you suddenly so involved in my life?"

Vala shrugs. "I'm a people person. Here you go, miss."

"Thanks." The blonde takes the glass and tilts it towards Jack with a small smile. "And thank you."

He raises his bottle to tap against hers lightly. "You're welcome."

"Bad date, huh?"

Jack huffs. "Blind date. We didn't click."

"Tell me about it." She smiles into her drink. "I just had a blind date with someone" – she shakes her head – "who definitely wasn't the right guy."

There's a wistful quality to her voice, even over the mellow jazz and comfortable buzz of conversations around them. She traces the bottle's label with one finger, her chin propped on her other hand. She's pretty in an understated, disarming sort of way. Big blue eyes, soft blonde hair tucked behind her ears.

"Blind dates are the worst," he offers. Nothing safer than finding common ground.

"My best friend set me up with him," she sighs. "And honestly? It should have worked. There was nothing bad about him. He was perfectly nice. But it was just –"

"- no spark?" he guesses.

Her eyes meet his, bright and clear. "Exactly."

"Sorry."

She shrugs. "Could have been worse." The corner of her mouth quirks up in a smile. "Some guy just bought me a drink, so the evening might be turning up."

Jack tugs his tie out of his collar, and he doesn't miss the quick, appreciative once-over she gives him over the rim of her bottle. He's certainly not going to complain about getting noticed by someone this young and hot.

He finishes his beer and sets the bottle down, stealing another look at the woman beside him. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, like she's mulling something over.

Vala takes the bottle. "Another one, dear?"

"No, thanks." He looks at the blonde. "You?"

"Hmm? Oh, no, thank you." She turns the bottle in her hands. "You know, there's a bakery around the corner that's open late. They have the _best_ salted caramel cake."

This might actually be the perfect woman.

"I'm a big fan of cake."

She beams at him, and if he'd thought she was pretty before, her smile is _devastating_. It's bright and quick and her whole face lights up, her eyes sparkling. "Great."

Jack drops money on the counter for Vala and follows her towards the door.

Outside, they walk side-by-side, arms brushing against each other because he's not sure it's okay to reach for her hand. Maybe after cake? That seems more like a post-cake step of acquaintance.

Or maybe once they've exchanged names, now that he thinks about it.

"I'm Jack, by the way."

"I'm Sam."

"Nice to meet you, Sam."

He'd just about resigned himself to this night being a complete bust, but this woman – he can't explain it, but he's pretty sure this could be the start of something extraordinary.

It might not even be the cake.


	5. won't you be my neighbor?

The general store manager in town had mentioned there's a new cabin a mile or so from Jack's, but so far he hasn't seen or heard anything, so – could be worse, right? His own property is wide enough that he'll always have solitude, but it might not be the end of the world if there's another human in the general vicinity.

The forest still blocks his view, and it's still quiet, so Jack supposes he shouldn't complain too much. He's five miles outside town, and it's just him, his cabin, and his pond without any fish.

* * *

He's been at the cabin almost a week when there's a knock at his rarely-used front door one day.

It takes him a moment to remember – oh, right. He's supposed to get that.

Jeez, he really doesn't get a lot of visitors up here.

He opens the door to find a little girl with blonde pigtails, holding a plate of cookies. "Hi." She pushes the plate into his hands unceremoniously. "These are for you."

"Uh. Thank you?"

"_Lisa_," he hears from nearby, and he turns to find a woman standing just off the porch. "Sorry about that. She's very goal-oriented."

"It's fine." He reaches out a hand to the little girl, who hesitates a moment before shaking it. "I'm Jack."

"I'm Lisa."

He nodded to the woman standing nearby. "Who's your shadow?"

Lisa looks back. "That's Mom."

"Hi, I'm Jen Carter." She waves, beaming at him. "We're in the new cabin over the way. We decided to be good neighbors."

Jack's dog, realizing there are new people, lets out a pitiful whine until Jack opens the door and lets him nose his way out. Lisa gasps with delight, immediately hugging the shaggy, affable golden retriever, who licks her face and snuffles her neck. "I love your dog! What's his name?"

"Daniel."

Jen laughs as Daniel winds his way around Lisa's legs, sniffing her curiously. "He's very eager."

"Ah, yeah." Jack makes a face. "He's very friendly. Gets into everything."

Daniel trots over to Jen, who crouches down to rub his ears, straightening the bandanna around his neck. "He is a very nice dog."

"Scruffy little fuzzball," Jack mutters, but there's fondness in it. "Thanks."

"Anyway, we mostly just wanted to come say hello," Jen explains. "There are four of us. My husband Mark is getting groceries with our son. And Mark's sister is coming up for a few days next week, so you might meet her." She sets her hands on Lisa's shoulders. "You ready to go home, sweetie?"

"Yeah."

"We'll see you around," Jen tells him.

"Nice to meet you folks." He waves to Lisa. "And thanks for the cookies."

"Bye Mr. Jack! Bye Daniel!"

The little girl bounds off, her mother following with a rueful smile.

* * *

The Carter family's new cabin stands near one of the bigger lakes in the area. Jack knows it well; across the water from the cabin, around the shore, is a broad stretch of clearing where the trees thin out and the sky is open. He's been heading there to stargaze on clear nights for years, and when he sees the last wisps of clouds vanish, leaving the night sky glittering, he grabs his telescope and flashlight, whistles for Daniel, and heads for the shore, picking his way along the forest trails he knows like the back of his hand.

It's his favorite kind of night: clear, breezy, the kind of nip in the air that surprises anyone who's not used to Minnesota summer nights. There are a few lights on at the Carter house nearby, but the air is still, just the soft sound of water and crickets.

But for the first time since he started bringing his telescope out here, he finds that he's not alone.

There's a woman kneeling on a blanket, looking through the eyepiece of her own telescope. Her face is hidden, but he can see the soft blonde ponytail, and the moonlight glints off the handle of a lantern on the ground beside her.

His footsteps catch her attention, and she looks up, startled. "Hi."

"Hi."

She's pretty. Very, very pretty. Even in the darkness, he can see her eyes, huge and beaming in the reflected starlight, and the soft, self-conscious smile that lights up her face.

He's staring. Oops.

"I'm Jack. My place is over –" He waves his flashlight back towards his cabin, watching the beam bounce around the trees. "Well, you can't see it. But it's there."

Her smile widens. "I'm Sam."

"You're – the sister, right? Your family stopped by a few days ago. Mentioned there was another Carter coming up."

"Yeah, this is my brother's place."

She doesn't seem to mind his presence, so he decides to be polite. "Mind if I join you?"

"Of course not." She grins. "The sky's big enough to share."

He's pretty sure he already likes her.

He settles beside her, spreading his own blanket next to hers on the soft, pillowy grass. Daniel, who is generally a fan of new people, trots over to sniff Sam's hand. He licks her fingers and curls up contentedly on the blanket beside her, letting out a soft huff as she scratches behind his ears.

Jack sets up his telescope, angling it carefully until he can see the graceful stretch of the Milky Way. "Visibility's good tonight."

"It really is." She sighs. "I live in Houston. There's so much light pollution. You almost forget what the sky looks like."

"I can understand that." Jack's been stationed more places than he can count. But no matter where he ended up, he always missed the Minnesota sky. It's deep, the darkness rich and rolling and vast, and the light pollution is so minimal that the sky looks dusty with stars.

She pulls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around herself tightly. He knows that posture. Texas weather is a far cry from Minnesota, especially at night. "Cold?"

"A little," she admits, smiling ruefully. "Houston is much warmer than this."

"Here." Jack shrugs off his jacket and leans over, wrapping the worn Carhartt around her shoulders.

"Aren't you cold?"

He shrugs. "I'm fine."

So he's a _little_ chilly. But he's certainly not going to admit it.

"Well – thanks." She huddles down in the depths of his jacket. It's loose on him, and it's much too big for her, but she looks far more at ease with the extra warmth. "Is it always this cold at night?"

"It's pretty normal up here, yeah."

She shakes her head. "Doesn't that defeat the purpose of summer?"

"Not in Minnesota." She fixes him with a skeptical look, and Jack shrugs. "You get used to it."

"You said you have a cabin here? Have you had it a long time?"

He nods. "My dad built it before I was born. I've been coming up here all my life."

His earliest memories of the stars come from this very shoreline, sitting here staring up, saving up money from his paper route to buy his first little telescope. It's been his personal solitude for years, his own little place to sit and feel like it's just him and a million billion trillion stars.

But he looks at Sam's bright, inquisitive eyes, her luminous smile, and suddenly he doesn't mind the company.

* * *

By the time she looks down at her watch, tilting her wrist to read the display in the moonlight, they're both shocked to realize it's almost three in the morning.

"I didn't realize." He's not normally up this late, even on the clearest of nights. Even Daniel has dozed off, snoring lightly from where he's lying across Sam's feet.

"Sorry."

"No, no. Don't apologize." He grins. "This was nice."

"Yeah." She tucks her hair behind her ear, ducking her head self-consciously. "Thanks for letting me invade your space. I know it's your spot."

"I don't mind sharing. Besides. Daniel likes the company."

She scratches Daniel's ears one more time and packs up her telescope, brushing off her shorts as she climbs to her feet.

"Oh! Wait." She stops and shrugs off his jacket. When she hands it back to him, her hand brushes his, so quickly he almost misses it. "Thanks again."

"No problem."

He watches her walk around the shore, telescope over one shoulder, until she reaches the Carters' cabin and disappears inside.

* * *

The next night is clear, and he finds her there again.

She's an engineer, he discovers; she works for a firm that designs electronic navigation systems for fighter planes. His admission that he used to fly F-18's makes her face light up. "I didn't know you were a pilot."

He shrugs, secretly pleased to see the excitement in her eyes. "Been a while."

"Still." She leans in to nudge his shoulder with hers. "Pretty exciting."

Despite the clear, bright sky, eventually they abandon the telescopes and stretch out side by side on their blankets, staring up at the stars like children.

"When I was a kid, I wanted to be an astronaut," she says eventually.

"How'd you end up an engineer?"

She shrugs. "When I got to college, I was all excited to take aerospace courses, but then I took my first electrical class, and that was it. I loved it. Never looked back."

He nods slowly. "I get that."

"What about you?" She turns to look at him, propping herself up on one elbow. "Did you always want to be a pilot?"

"Most of the time. Except when I wanted to be a hockey pro."

Her smile widens, her eyes sparkling. "Hockey? Really?"

"I loved it. Even played at the Air Force Academy."

"You must have been good."

He shrugs. "Everyone else was worse, so they were stuck with me."

It's lame. It's so lame, just like all his jokes. But she laughs anyway. Jack looks back at her, and his heart skips a beat in his chest as he realizes she's focused on his mouth. It's a long moment before she seems to catch herself, dragging her gaze back up to meet his.

Before he can react, or do anything rather than blink and catch his breath, Daniel comes trotting over and deposits a huge stick on the blanket in front of them. He sits back on his hind legs, looking proud of himself.

_Oh, for crying out loud_.

"Thank you, Danny." Jack rubs the dog's ears. "This is his idea of a gift."

"Very thoughtful of him."

Daniel, who seems to have decided Sam is his new favorite, snuggles up against her, relaxing contentedly on her lap as though he's half his actual size. "Sorry." Jack pokes Daniel, but the dog huffs and doesn't move. "He thinks he's a lapdog."

"He's a very good boy." Sam smooths a hand over the dog's soft fur. "Aren't you? You're a very good boy."

"He likes you."

"I like him, too."

They fall silent for a long time, Sam petting a half-sleeping golden retriever, Jack pretending he's looking up at the sky while he actually looks at her.

* * *

Wednesday night is a little cloudy, but the clouds are wispy enough that they can still see plenty of stars.

"So what's your position on aliens?" he asks finally.

Sam sits back, crossing her legs, eyeing him with a fondly amused smile he's come to appreciate. "I don't know. Never met one."

"You think they exist?"

"Logically speaking, there are enough theoretically inhabitable worlds that it's likely," she says thoughtfully. "But even if there _are_ aliens, the distances between planets are so vast that we'll probably never meet them."

"So we need a transporter. Like in _Star Trek_."

That makes her laugh. "That would work, I guess."

"Would you go?"

"Where?"

"Another planet. If you could."

"Of course." Her eyes are shining. "Wouldn't you?"

"Wouldn't even hesitate." After flying fighters, going to another planet can't be that crazy, can it?

"So it's settled, then."

He turns to face her. "What is?"

"If one of us gets to go to another planet, we go together."

Jack nods slowly. "You're officially my intergalactic plus one."

The smile she gives him is soft and shy and girlish, and he's stupidly, absurdly happy about it.

* * *

Eventually she dozes off beside him, Daniel curled up alongside her, and Jack sits for a few minutes before reaching for her shoulder to wake her, because it's the most peaceful thing he can remember in far too long.

* * *

Thursday night is warmer, clear and bright, and once the sun sets, Jack packs up his telescope, calls for Daniel, and heads for the shore.

* * *

"I'm going back to Houston," she says quietly, while they're both looking up at Cygnus. "On Saturday."

His stomach twists painfully. He knew she was only here briefly, but somehow he hadn't really pieced together just how brief it would be. Like somehow he thought she'd always be here, every night, to look up at the sky and talk about nothing.

Like this fragile, unintended thing between them, whatever it is, only exists at night, and it's as tentative and gossamer as the tail of a shooting star.

"Oh." He feels like he should fill the silence somehow. "Had a good vacation?"

"Yeah, it has been." She sits back on her heels, fidgeting absently with her sweatshirt's zipper. Despite her complaining, she's learned to wear warmer clothes when they're out here at night. "I wasn't sure at first, but it's actually been more fun than I thought it would be."

"Even the cold?"

"Even that." She looks away, like she's trying not to betray something. "It's – been nice."

It's hard to tell in the dark, but he thinks she might be blushing, and there's something powerful and warm unfolding in his chest. "Good weather for stargazing."

She hums softly, smiling down at her hands. "The company's not bad, either."

He barely knows this woman. Barely knows her. And yet he's swamped with the impulse to kiss her, to lean in and press his lips to the line of her throat, tangle his fingers in her hair, lay her out beneath him on the blanket and kiss her under all the stars they can both name.

It hits him hard, and he's not ready for the sense of loss when he realizes she'll be more than a thousand miles away.

She looks back at him, and he catches his breath. Her eyes are wide, clear, endless under the night sky, and the moonlight throws a soft, silvery gleam over her blonde hair.

He swallows hard, seeing her lips part as her gaze flicks briefly down to his mouth.

"Sam?"

"It's late." She tears her gaze away, reaching for the legs of her telescope, and maybe he's just imagining it, but her hands look just the slightest bit shaky. "I should get back."

"_Sam_ –"

"Good night, Jack."

* * *

Friday night is cloudy.

For a while he sits in his cabin drinking beer, but then Daniel sits down and stares at him.

"What?"

The dog just tilts his head.

"Don't look at me like that. It's cloudy. There's no reason to go out."

Daniel barks, clearly unimpressed.

"It's not like that, okay? It's just stargazing. There's nothing –"

Daniel runs off to the front door and sits in front of it expectantly, looking back over his shoulder. Jack sighs.

"Come on, Daniel. Cut it out."

Daniel lets out a whine, trotting back to bump Jack's hand with his nose.

But there's nothing. Honestly. She's just another person with a telescope. There's absolutely no reason he should feel this hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach at the thought of her leaving, vanishing back to her regular life, without him even getting a chance to see her again.

Daniel whines again, long and pitiful.

"Fine. Okay? Fine." He grumbles. "Gonna feel like an idiot when there's no one there."

He already feels like an idiot, but he grabs his jacket and flashlight and follows the dog outside.

It's a bad night for stars, and he can smell rain coming in the air, feel the slick, too-cool breeze that signals a thunderhead on the way. But he follows the dog anyway, winding down the path, until he comes out to the shore of the lake.

And she's there.

She's standing on the shore, looking up at the heavy, cloudy sky, even as the ominous rumble of thunder sounds from the west. The winds are picking up, whipping through her soft blonde hair. Without the moon, the darkness is thick and inky, the only light a faint glow from the lantern at her feet, and her face is shadowed.

But then she turns to look at him, and her eyes are wide and soft and gentle.

"I wasn't sure you'd be here," she admits, her arms wrapped around herself.

Jack shrugs, trying not to make it too obvious just how delighted he is. "Daniel missed you."

Raindrops are starting to hit the ground around them, but she doesn't seem to notice, even as a flash of lightning in the distance briefly lights her face. "I wanted to see you again."

"You're leaving."

She nods. "I have to."

"I know."

"Jack. I know – I know this is crazy" – she swallows – "and I know we just met, but I just – I thought maybe –"

She's halfway through her sentence but he's moving towards her like a star pulled into orbit, and before she can finish, he cups her face in his hands and kisses her.

The contact is electric.

Rain pelts them but he doesn't care, pulling her close. She sighs and sinks against him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She slides her fingers through his short hair, nails scraping lightly over his skin, and he groans.

As if on cue, the storm turns to a downpour, sheets of rain drenching both of them in seconds. Jack finally pulls away, looking down at her. Her hair is plastered to her neck, her clothes soaked through, raindrops streaming down her face. But she's beaming.

He finally finds his voice.

"So can I call you?"

Her smile widens.

"You'd better."


	6. totally irrational

"Sam." Janet groans. "You're such a dork."

"What?"

"The shirt? Really?"

Sam looks down at her green t-shirt, emblazoned in white with a single Greek letter. "It's March 14, Janet. I _have_ to wear it."

"You really don't."

"Everyone in the lab is wearing them today. Professor Landry said he's bringing in pie for lunch."

Janet folds her arms, eyeing her roommate skeptically. "You're a hopeless nerd."

"Remind me what you're studying again?"

Janet scowls. "Just because I'm pre-med doesn't mean I have to wear nerdy shirts. I happen to have fashion sense. And a life."

"And _I_ have my pi shirt, and I'm going to school." Sam slings her bag over her shoulder and picks up her textbooks. "See you later."

* * *

Spring has hit the campus in a riot of green grass and bright flowers. Sam and Janet live near the university; it's less than a mile to the physics building, and the labs are right nearby, so Sam walks every day, rain or shine. It's certainly cheaper than buying a parking pass.

As she walks into the lab, she smiles. Everyone, from Rodney to Radek, is wearing a Pi Day t-shirt.

These really are her people.

* * *

After a long day of TA work and dodging Rodney McKay's awkward advances, Sam finally packs up her things to leave. On her way home that afternoon, she hears multiple calls of "Hey, Pi Day!" and "Happy Pi Day!" from people she doesn't know across campus. It's reassuring to know her t-shirt is popular, Janet's opinion notwithstanding.

Of course, that might just mean everyone's as dorky as she is.

Sam finally turns onto the last block before her apartment. She's absorbed with searching her pockets – where did she put her keys, again? – so when one more person walking past quietly says "Happy Pi Day," she offers an absent smile and murmurs "Thanks, same to you" without really looking up.

Sam finally digs out her key as she crosses the parking lot.

_That'll show Janet. People _do _like this shirt_.

* * *

_[two months later]_

The week after classes end, Sam's at home visiting her parents when the phone rings. Her mother picks it up. "Hello?" After a moment, she hands it over to Sam. "It's for you, sweetie."

"Hello?"

"Sam! Hey. It's Janet."

"What's up?"

"We got a note under our door."

"From the landlord?"

Janet laughs. "No. Definitely not the landlord. Hang on, I'll read it to you." Sam hears a rustle of paper. "Okay. It says 'I remember saying Happy Pi Day to a girl wearing a pi shirt on March 14. I've seen you walking this way since then, and I'm pretty sure you live in this building. If you want to get coffee or see a movie or something, I'd really like to meet you.'"

Sam lets out a short laugh, her heart pounding. "Are you serious?"

"I remember you saying someone wished you Happy Pi Day on the next block up," Janet points out. "This guy's definitely talking about you."

"Wow."

"Also, I talked to Carolyn and Claire and Daniel and T and the guys upstairs. Every one of them got this note under their doors, too."

"All of them?" There are twelve units in their building.

"Every apartment in the building. He went to _every apartment in the building_ to find you."

Sam flushes. "I – don't know what to say."

"Well, if you want to answer him, he put down his address. Looks like he lives in the building next to ours."

Makes sense. Their apartment is one in a long row of graduate student buildings. "What's his name?"

"It's just signed 'J.'"

"You don't think it's Rodney McKay, do you?"

"I doubt it." Janet huffs. "This is something he'd do, though."

Sam grimaces. "Better not be."

"Well, it's up to you. How long are you home?"

"I'll be back next week."

"Okay. If you want me to pass along your answer, just tell me what to write, and I'll drop it off for him." Janet sounds delighted. "Oh, this is better than television. That stupid shirt might actually work for you."

"Janet!"

* * *

It's a warm, cloudy day, two weeks later, when Sam walks into the coffeeshop at the student union. She and Janet have been cleaning the apartment all morning. It was as much to burn off nervous energy as anything else. Janet, of course, is excited by the entire thing. _Okay. So when you marry him, I get to be your maid of honor._

But when Sam had innocently suggested that she might just wear her Pi Day shirt again, Janet had put her foot down. _For God's sake, Sam. He already knows you're a nerd. Let's not make it seem like you only own one shirt_.

Once she was showered and made up and her outfit passed the Janet fashion test, Sam set out for the coffeeshop.

She's jittery, so she arrives twenty minutes early. Once she has her latte, she finds a seat by the window and pulls out a book. She's not really reading; it's more just something to do, rather than stare at everyone who walks in and wonder which one might be the mysterious _J_.

The downside, of course, is that she has ample time to wonder about just how this might go wrong.

He's not an axe murderer, is he? She doesn't _know_ that he's not an axe murderer. Sure, they're meeting in a public place in daytime. But maybe that's just to lull her into a false sense of –

"Excuse me?"

She looks up to find a young man standing in front of her table. He's tall, lean. Tan skin, sandy hair, bright brown eyes. A lopsided little smile.

"Pi Girl?"

She lets out a long breath. So this is J. "Hi."

Oh no.

He's really, really, _really_ cute.

"Mind if I sit?"

"Course not."

He settles in the chair across from her, setting down the books he's carrying. _Aviation Technology_. _A Pilot's Handbook of Aeronautics._ _The Pilot's Manual._ And sitting atop those, a worn paperback copy of _Star Trek: The Vulcan Academy Murders_.

Okay. So maybe she's not the only nerd on campus.

He sits back in his chair, watching her with those perceptive eyes. "I'm Jack."

"I'm Sam."

"Nice to finally meet you, Sam." He smiles at her, and despite herself, Sam can feel heat rising in her cheeks. There's something irresistible about him, like his smile is catching, and she has the sinking feeling that Janet was right, this whole time.

"So was it really the pi shirt?"

"Kind of." He chuckles. "I'd seen you before. And I thought – you're cute, and you seem nice, and judging by the books you're always carrying, you're smart. So why not go for it?"

Sam can feel the blush still warming her cheeks. She's not used to guys talking to her this way. "You think you'll like me when you get to know me?"

"Are you kidding? You wear nerd shirts, _and_ you took the chance to actually meet me." He grins. "I adore you already."


End file.
